


A Little Game

by radiantbaby



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Cock Tease, Coming In Pants, F/M, Light Dom/sub, Mild Kink, Orgasm Control, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Orgasm Denial, Public Humiliation, Wicked Games
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-28
Updated: 2014-04-28
Packaged: 2018-01-21 03:12:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1535468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/radiantbaby/pseuds/radiantbaby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s a little game they both play -- usually after agonizingly long stretches between the times they have seen one another. Ten/River smut!fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Little Game

**Author's Note:**

> [This is an older fic from October 2008, but I'm working on posting all my fics here on AO3]
> 
> ORIGINAL AUTHOR NOTES: This fic was written for the kinkmeme [for the prompt: "Ten/River - She likes to make him come in his pants, especially in public"], but I decided to clean it up and go public with it.
> 
> Thank you to persiflage for the beta.

It’s a little game they both play -- usually after agonizingly long stretches between the times they have seen one another. 

River has always been a bit of a tease, but the Doctor -- a tease himself, according to many – has always been one to get turned on when tables are turned. So, it’s on these days, when she has him by the (metaphorical) balls, he can do nothing but whimper in desire and play along.

It starts in the usual way, with her surreptitiously rubbing herself against him – fingertips caressing his thigh as she strolls past him, breasts pressed into his back as she points at something from behind him, her bottom rubbing against his burgeoning erection as she leans forward to pick something up from the ground –

She swats at him whenever he tries to return her teasing touches, of course, making sure that he knows, without question, who is in charge. 

It’s admittedly difficult for the Doctor to stay passive during these exchanges, and she knows that, but in times like these, she always likes to _push and push and push_ him right up to the edge of his emotional boundaries and just watch him break apart -- often with a glimmer in her eye and a naughty smile on her lips. 

As is always the plan when they play this game, she just wants him to lose control of himself, shuck that faux repression that he likes to hide behind when prancing about the universe with his – as she calls it – ‘pretentious god complex.’ She wants him to lose himself to something more powerful, more _primal_ \-- to come, not inside her, nor in her mouth, nor on her beautiful breasts -- 

No, she wants him to come right there, fully clothed, out in public, in his pants.

“What do you want to do to me?” she asks him with a whisper and a throaty laugh in his ear as they walk through the marketplace of Grixon-Klp. 

“What I always want to do to you,” he answers evenly, doing his best to not show in his tone how aroused he is.

“And you know what I want from you.”

“Yes,” he says, trying to stay the insistent blush rising on his cheeks as she skips ahead of him to look at some artifacts on a nearby shop table.

Oh, she knows how much it shames him, of course, but he supposes that is a big part of what turns her on about the whole thing in the first place (and, admittedly, something that ultimately turns him on as well). She knows how much he hates to lose control in things -- laughs at his internal struggling, even – especially when it comes to something she knows that he thinks he should ‘so easily’ be able to stay _in control_ of. 

He is over a millennium old, he chastises himself in annoyance as he walks through the marketplace (trying to distract himself from the persistent throbbing in his trousers), _certainly_ no longer a hormonal boy who can’t contain himself. Things had been more difficult back then, in his youth, and feverish times with his hand shoved into his robes to relieve the tension only led to more and more shame when his elders caught him. _Shame that he did not enjoy repeating._

Since boyhood though, he had become more adept at compartmentalizing (and then diffusing) his lascivious thoughts and reactions – a trick that he found particularly useful when around his traveling companions – but there was something about River that slowly broke down those barriers, pulled at those strings that ever so delicately held him together. 

It was a gift -- he supposed one could say – though he didn’t like to think of it that way himself.

The wind is picking up and the dress River is wearing draws his full attention. It is very short -- the length hitting just below the curve of her bottom – and wispy and somewhat sheer as it pulls tight against her body in the breeze, revealing her dark areolae, puckered and tight with nipples erect. She turns slightly and the breeze pulls the edges up even more, momentarily revealing the soft curls of hair at the apex of her thighs before she gives him a naughty smile and smoothes the dress back down. 

His cock twitches in response and he pulls his coat, folded over his arm, in front of him to hide himself. He is starting to get achingly and shamefully hard now, pressing uncomfortably against the confines of his trousers, his cock rubbing slightly against the material as he walks, desperate for release. 

River had sent him a message via the psychic paper a few days previous, asking him to meet her here on this day and telling him to save himself for her. 

They did that sometimes as well -- another game of sorts – denial of individual pleasure so that when they saw one another again, the intensity of their culminating desire would lead to rather passionate (and often ferocious) lovemaking. 

They had to keep things interesting between them after all. 

She really liked to draw out his craving for her, ordering him to hold his climax until she allowed it. And here, in this marketplace, was where she’d finally given him a reprieve -- a reprieve that would come from no soft caress from her, of course, but from the moment his will finally lost its battle when a look or action from her would make him come completely undone.

He now watches her caressing the long objects lying on the shop table before her. They might have been just simple glass vases from the look of them, but he didn’t care – _he is enraptured._ He stares at her slowly running her fingertips along the elongated thin shafts of glass, curling her fingers around one of them, and rubbing circles at the top of it with her thumb.

“Do you want this?” she turns to ask him.

“Only 30 Galtus, it’s a steal,” the shopkeeper in front of her said, unaware of the double entendre of her question and the secret conversation they were sharing with their bodies.

“I think you’d really like this,” she adds with a smirk, seeming to ignore the shopkeeper’s words, her eyes boring into his instead.

He breaks eye contact with her and instead watches her hand stroking the length of the glass again, feeling his knees beginning to weaken. He bites his lip, hoping to stop himself, but it is far too late. 

“Yes,” he hisses in response and his groin tightens as he leans on one hand on a nearby table, clutching tightly to his coat, as his climax suddenly surges through him, leaving the warm wetness of his sticky release in his pants, surely dampening the crotch of his trousers. 

Shudders seize his body as he tries his best to pretend nothing has happened, but River knows the truth (she always does), he doesn’t fool her for a moment, and a broad smile forms on her lips before she turns to the shopkeeper. “We’ll take it.”


End file.
